The First Fall
by Unjax
Summary: This story follows the events of Galbatorix's life before he became the High King of Alagaesia. Follow his life from the time he is chosen as a rider to the fateful day where he kills Vrael. All rights to Paolini, and this is not a factual portrayal of his vision of what happened. Includes some OC's which I still claim.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey anyone reading this! First off thanks for taking the time to read this. I'm a fairly amateur author , so any tips/advice will be appreciated! Other than that, I hope you enjoy my take on what may have happened to Galbatorix before he instilled himself as the Black King. **

**A Chance**

Galbatorix breathed into his frigid hands. It was a particularly cold winter up in the spine, and though he was accustomed to the biting wind, his hands had become numb. He stood at around the same height as all the other boys from Irvenstead, a small city in the northern reaches of the spine, even though he was two years younger than the next child, being of only eight winters. He was unusually tall for his age, and as such found it more suiting to spend his time amongst the older boys of the village. The line was made of boys and girls, all ten winters old, with the exception of Galbatorix.

The had all gathered earlier in the morning when a pair of Riders (real Riders!) had landed in Irvenstead and spoke in hushed voices to some of the elders of the village. Galbatorix had been the first to notice the approaching dragons, noticing a slightly darker spot on a cloud above. The other boys had brushed his remark off as another cloud, but he saw it was moving too fast and was too abnormal to be anything but a living creature. He smiled smugly at the thought, outsmarting the others of the village was a favorite past time of his, despite it being overly simple at times. It was another reason he favored the company of his elders, as they tended to be harder to trick.

Soon after landing, some of the adults had brought tables out, and one of the Riders, an elf, Galbatorix thought, gingerly laid a saddlebag onto the table. Galbatorix was astonished at the Rider's beauty. He had heard tell that the elves of Du Weldenvarden were exceptionally fair, however he had never thought a living being could be so elegantly beautiful. He had never known any to have such smooth movements. He decided the descriptions in books hardly did elves justice. He considered memorizing a scene of her and attempting to paint it, but disregarded the possibility. If he could not put into words a viable description of her beauty, how could he hope to do so with a medium with which he was much less skilled. No, he decided to simply appreciate her, and then did not think of it again.

She had pale skin and ink black hair that swirled around in soft curls. Where the woman of his town generally had tattered hair, the elf's seemed almost to shimmer. She had delicate features, eyes neither set too narrowly, nor very wide apart. Her eyes were also quite large, giving her a youthful appearance that was only rectified further by her soft lips and narrow nose. Her skin had no wrinkles, scars, pockmarks or any of the other signs of age. Despite her youthful body, she held herself in a manner which implied utter control of herself, everything relaxed whilst still maintaining straight posture. She seemed at ease, and yet he had no doubt she was ready to spring into action at the slightest threat. These conflicting characteristics gave her a sort of agelessness, and Galbatorix could no more guess at her age than he could fly.

Her partner, a human man who could have been no older than twenty five, stood behind her and announced to the children of the village that they were there to see if any of the children would be chosen by the dragons, whose eggs must have been in the saddlebag the elf woman had lain on the table, and become Riders. The Rider then asked for any children who had lived through ten winters to form a line, when they reached the front of the line they would get a chance to touch the eggs, and the Riders would tell them if they had been chosen. Immediately the boys and girls of the village had lined up for a chance to be a Rider.

And so Galbatorix stood in line as person after person walked up eagerly and excitedly to the eggs, then walked away dejectedly after realizing the eggs had not chosen them. The process was somewhat lengthy, as each child lingered, hoping an egg would stir. Galbatorix was near the back of the line and decided to take the opportunity to study the dragons behind the Riders. He was far from them, several hundred feet at least, so it was difficult to make much out, but he tried.

The one that the elf had dismounted from was a dark orange color, bordering closely on red. Initially it appeared not too dissimilar from the leather hides of animals, but upon closer inspection, he noticed it seemed to shimmer, as though made out of some precious stone. He decided it must be the scales he had read about causing the dazzling effect. The creature was about the size of a large house, and had spines sticking out of it's back and neck at regular intervals. Galbatorix decided it was the most fascinating creature he had ever come across, in a sense even more beautiful than it's elven counterpart.

The dragon was sitting twenty or so feet behind the table facing the side, but with it's neck turned to overlook the proceedings. It's tail was wrapped around it's legs like a snake, it's back perfectly straight. It displayed more dignity and pride in that pose than Galbatorix thought possible for a creature it's size.

As he observed the dragon, it turned towards him as though it was aware of his attention. The dragon looked at him, and Galbatorix made eye contact with it. As he did so, he felt a slight pressure against his thoughts. He cringed immediately, he had heard stories of magicians invading others' thoughts and taking over their minds. He began to panic, but the probe had not done any more than touch his mind. After a moment, he calmed himself, and began to examine the presence at the edge of his consciousness. He gained the impression it was connected to a significantly larger presence, and from he began to feel the consciousness. As Galbatorix pushed back to examine the probe more closely, it tensed, become rigid and unbreakable. He felt it encircle his mind, and again started to panic.

_Do not think to test me, hatchling. _A voice resonated through his consciousness. Galbatorix stood there shocked, unable to comprehend what had happened. _Though I mean you no harm, I will not tolerate you trying to gain access to my consciousness. _

Galbatorix's mind spun, trying to find some way to appease the constricting force around him. This entity was speaking in his mind, and had felt him begin to pick at it's consciousness, so perhaps it could hear his thoughts.

_I apologize, great one, I sorely over stepped my bounds. I thought not to intrude on your consciousness, I was merely curious. I have never felt another's mind, and to have such a great and powerful presence touch me was too much for my inquisitiveness. I wished to know what being could possibly be so powerful. _

He felt the anger and pressure begin to decrease in his mind, and then it vanished altogether, severed by whoever had made the contact. Awakening from his internal struggle, Galbatorix realized his eyes were still locked with those of the dragon. The great orange-red creature dipped it's head then turned away, and Galbatorix realized it must have been the presence in his mind. He shivered a bit, realizing he could have just as easily been killed by the creature in his mind as if it decided to bite him clean in half. He felt much safer with the presence withdrawn, and at the same time yearned for the ability to equal that power.

It took a long time for Galbatorix to reach the front of the line, and he could only guess at how long due to the changing position of the sun. By his estimation he had been in line an hour and a half since he had made contact with the dragon when he came to be the third in line. He began to feel nervous and anxious with anticipation. He could see four eggs on the table, and there were no open spaces to indicate any had hatched. Galbatorix's stomach sank a bit, as he realized that of the dozens upon dozens of children to have come forth, none had been chosen as a Rider. However, his nervousness quickly dissipated. He knew he was different than most his age. He was confident he had as much of a chance as any of those who had been chosen to become Riders, such as the elf. After the two ahead of him, Galbatorix stepped up to the table and smiled at the elvish woman.

"Hello," he greeted her, then placed his hand over his chest. He recalled that as being a greeting of the elves, though he could not remember where from. The woman looked up. She had a furrow between her eyebrows, as though deeply concerned with something, but when she saw him, it cleared and she smiled slightly.

"You are the one who spoke with Thauriel earlier I presume." She stated. Galbatorix looked up at the dragon, Thauriel, who gazed down at him. He felt that slight touch against his mind again, and this time he did not try to push back. He acknowledged that the elvish woman knew everything the dragon did about him.

"You rather flattered his ego," she said wryly, "Calling him great one. Dragons are quite prideful, and you got out quite easily by exploiting that. Quick thinking." Galbatorix was astounded. The elf had just paid him a compliment.

"I thank you, Rider. You honor me greatly, as do you, Fire Breather." He could think of nothing to call the dragon that would not be overly familiar. He was unhappy with his response, but figured the Rider and dragon would put it down to the mutterings of a nervous eight year old.

"Perhaps," interjected the human rider in a rather harsh tone, "we should continue with the proceedings. This has taken quite some time with little promise. A small town in the spine, we should not think this would harbor the next generation of riders." The haughty tone of the Rider offended Galbatorix greatly, but he dared not question it, for fear of losing his opportunity. He saw annoyance flash in the elf's eyes, but she made no comment. "Touch the egg before you, if it does not stir, move on."

Galbatorix looked down at the egg before him. It was a bright green, like the underside of a leaf in the summer, run through with veins of black. He placed his right hand on it, and found it to be smooth as polished glass. He was fascinated, and could easily have spent a long time running his hand around the gem like egg. This egg, however, did not appeal to him. He didn't like the way it looked and felt,the colors did not appeal to him. He shifted his gaze to the next egg, one of deep grey with similarly colored veins as the last. This one he felt some pull towards, the dark coloring pleased him. It was close, but he knew it was not an exact fit. When he lay his hand on it, he felt it stir slightly and gasped. The human Rider came over and looked at the egg. Before he could say anything however, Galbatorix withdrew his hand. He looked at the other two eggs, one blue and the other red. Both had different shades within them, and though they were more beautiful than the most faceted gems, he felt no pull.

He looked around, and saw the saddle that rested upon Thauriel, who was now lying down. For some reason he could not explain, Galbatorix felt as though what he was searching for was there.

He put his hand on the next egg, and it rocked slightly, much as the last. He heard the elf mutter something under her breath, but could not place it. He moved to the last egg. It too shook at his touch. He looked up at the two riders. Three of the four eggs had responded to him, and he felt no desire for any of them.

"What in all the names of all the gods was that?" questioned the human rider in a soft voice, absolutely awe-struck. He looked at Galbatorix, eyes full of disbelief. The human's dragon, a brown dragon that was significantly smaller than Thauriel, rose to it's feet and padded over. It's snout came down and gazed over the table. The elf leaned forward, speaking in a tongue Galbatorix could not recognize, but guessed was the Ancient Language. The three eggs that Galbatorix had made stir were beginning to rock back and forth. Galbatorix stared in amazement. What if all three hatched for him?

The elf sped up her speech as the eggs rocked to and fro faster and faster. She finished speaking and the eggs settled, as though nothing had happened. Galbatorix stared at them. They had been ready to hatch moments ago, and now they had stopped?

"I will take a short leave," the elf said in her melodic voice, "we will discuss this on my return." She left quickly, stopping only at her saddle bag to withdraw a wooden object.

Galbatorix stood, and despite the situation, he gave no signs of awkwardness. He felt very pleased with himself. He had gotten three eggs to shake. He knew not if they had chosen him or not, but the fact that three of them had responded to his touch when no other child had gotten the slightest of movements before gave him a great sense of satisfaction. He was certain beyond a doubt now that he would become a dragon rider, and he smiled contently.

He looked after the elven Rider, who appeared to be holding a bowl, and talking to it animatedly. He cocked his head in curiosity, thinking the elvish woman might be mad. He looked at the human rider still standing opposite the table from Galbatorix. The rider had adopted a very aggressive stance, arms folded and glaring intently at the young boy before him.

"What is she doing?" Galbatorix asked the rider.

"That is not an affair of yours." he responded flatly. Anger swelled in Galbatorix at being denied the information he had asked for.

"It is most obviously my affair." He cut in sharply, almost snarling. "It is do to the eggs' reaction to me that she left. This is indeed more my affair than yours." He glared at the man, whose face had become a dangerous shade, and seemed at the point of hitting the young boy before him.

"Do not presume to talk to me as such!" exclaimed the rider. The anger and power behind the voice instilled fear in Galbatorix, and yet he felt he had done nothing wrong. He had pointed out how very much the entire situation revolved around himself. Galbatorix was about to press the issue, but decided against it, seeing the pride and fire in the man's eyes. Galbatorix was not about to sabotage his chance, nay his right, to be a Rider just to spite this man, so he seethed in silence awaiting the elf's return.

_Though the circumstances are indeed particular, you would be wise not to anger a Rider. _Galbatorix yelped in surprise at the mental touch, and looked up to see Thauriel had moved near, and his great neck extended so his head was no more than five feet from Galbatorix. _I sense you are different, special perhaps. In a way. Never have three eggs responded to a single candidate. This is odd indeed, however, it does nothing to guarantee you a dragon. Do not assume this makes you a rider. _The great dragon's voice seemed to boom within Galbatorix's mind. Taken aback, it too the young boy a moment to gather his thoughts and project them towards the dragon.

_Three eggs have responded to me, _Galbatorix responded, _how can this not mean I am to be a rider? _ Despite his words, Galbatorix began to feel the dragon's presence slip from his mind. Frustration gripped him. He hated being subject to the whim of another. He could do nothing more to communicate with the dragon. Again he slipped into a brooding anger. Fortunately, it was not long before the elf returned, and with her approach Galbatorix's hopes again rose.

"I have spoken with one of our Elders," she said in an almost singsong voice, "Though three eggs responded to you, none bonded with you. They simply felt something in you. Our Elder suspects that it indicates you have the makings of a rider, but have not found the right egg. He suggested we show you the final egg we brought with us. Hope not, for this egg is very old, nigh on a century, and has never responded to any." Galbatorix grew eager with each word. Another egg, and he was certain this one would hatch for him.

The elf walked towards her dragon, who lay down. She unbuckled the straps on a pouch of her saddle and withdrew another egg. This one was larger than the others, but was less intricate. It was a shimmering white color, with only a few veins of silver laced through it. It immediately called to him, and it took all of Galbatorix's restraint not to dash forward and take it from the elf. She held the large stone-like object with care, and picked her way back to the table. She lay it before him, and he lay his hand atop it.

Immediately he felt a tremor pass through the egg, and something inside began to stir. Galbatorix began to laugh in exhilaration. He was going to be a rider! The egg cracked in several places, and it began to teeter precariously. Whatever was inside was struggling to escape the confines of it's shell. A small tooth poked out of one of the cracks, and a nail sized fraction of shell fell off the egg around the tooth. The tooth fell off almost immediately, but that did nothing to lessen the hatchling's struggle to escape its shell.

More and more of the shell fell away, revealing bits of what was the most beautiful creature Galbatorix had ever seen. The dragon had light silvery scales, run through with veins of pure white creating patterns similar to those of lightning during a heavy storm. With a mighty heave, or what passed for such from one so small, the dragon extended its wings, sending sharp pieces of shell flying in all directions. He was overcome with the urge to touch the new dragon. His dragon. What, if the stories were true, was to be the other half of his whole. His arm stretched forward of its own volition, unconsciously yearning for the dragon. It seemed to sense his presence and turned towards Galbatorix, seeming to stretch towards its Rider-to-be.

When his hand was no more than mere inches from the dragon's head, he felt his wrist wrenched away. The elf held him in an iron grip, staring at him intently.

"What!" he exclaimed in outrage.

"Do you understand what this means?" she asked, her tone as serious as that of Galbatorix's father when he was dealing with matters of great import in his court. "Once you touch your dragon, you will be bonded to her. You will take on the mantle of the Riders, a responsibility not to be taken lightly. You will leave your life behind, abandon everything you know, and devote your life to upholding peace in the land and learning all the world has to offer. You will gain much, but lose equally. Do you accept this, and all it entails?" After the initial urge he had to respond with a biting retort, he felt the heat of his anger dissipate. He would allow nothing to ruin this moment, not even his own discolored emotions.

"I accept it, in its entirety." He stated simply, allowing no room for question. The elf's eyes, green he noticed, flicked to and fro, studying Galbatorix, and then she released him. They stared at each other for a short while, than a high pitched gurgle caught Galbatorix's attention. He turned back to his dragon, who was now sitting, staring at him expectantly. A smile pulled at his lips, then he leaned forward, extending his right hand. The dragon peaked up, and, seeming pleased, closed its eyes and stretched its neck so that her head met his hand.

As it did, a searing pain blasted through his body, emanating from the point of contact with his dragon. The pain wracked through his body stretching to every corner of his being. As it entered his mind, he felt as though something inside it had shifted, just before he passed out.

When Galbatorix awoke, he could feel a slight pressure on his chest. He looked down to see a dragon, _his_ dragon. A giddiness flittered through his heart as he looked down at the small hatchling curled up asleep on his chest. Despite it being recently hatched, its gem-like hide sparkled and gleamed as though the scales had trapped all the sun's rays. As he gazed down at it, something swelled within him. He vowed that no matter how difficult or dangerous his life became, he would never allow harm to befall his dragon. He knew that what lay on his chest, cupped under his hand, was more precious than if it had been made of solid diamond.

He slowly raised his hand off the dragon so as not to disturb its slumber, and a slight silvery edge caught his eye. He turned his hand over so that he could see what the mark was, and was shocked to see that a misshapen oval covered his palm, and it glistened as silver as the scales of his dragon.

"Now what have you gone and done?" he said to the sleeping hatchling.

"Made you a proper Rider." came the unexpected reply. Galbatorix twisted to see the human rider from before next to the bed in which he lay. He quickly surveyed his surroundings and realized he was in his own room.

Galbatorix's chambers were not particularly large, but, being a prince, they were more than comfortable. His room was about fifteen paces long and twenty wide. Across from his bed was an ornate wooden dresser, beside which there was a mirror with gilded edges. Other than that, the room was plain other than the soft carpets that stretched from the door to the foot of his bed. Across the halls there were washing rooms, and from there the corridors of the castle branched outward.

The human Rider, whose eyes seemed somewhat softer now than they had when Galbatorix had first met him, turned over his own hand, revealing an identical mark. Galbatorix hadn't paid much attention to the human Rider when first they met, but now, having a chance to examine the man, he noticed that he was slimmer than even most of the men who worked the fields around Irvenstead. Despite his slim frame, Galbatorix noticed the man had wiry, defined muscles that implied a focus more so on speed than strength. The man wore a plain grey shirt, over which was a dark richly colored leather. Though it seemed nothing more than formal wear, Galbatorix suspected that the leather would prove as nice armor during a fight. Similar to his tunic, the Rider's pants and boots were made of a dark glossy brown, which matched the scabbard that hung by his hip. Galbatorix noticed that the sword's hilt was different than any other he had ever seen. It was intricate, made of patterns that rivaled and perhaps surpassed the finest metal workings that Galbatorix had laid eyes upon, and inset in its pommel was a large, amber gem.

"Every Rider has this mark." The man said, "I am Toren, and I shall escort you to Illirea where your training shall begin." The man's voice and disposition had softened since they had met outdoors in the winter. "I apologize for my earlier behavior, it was rude of me. I believed we were wasting our time in this small city. Dragons mostly hatch for elves, and a small human city harbored no great chance for a hatchling. I was wrong."

"Thank you," he replied hesitantly. Toren gave a sharp nod, then ducked out of the room leaving Galbatorix alone with his dragon.

Galbatorix turned his gaze back down to his dragon, which he found staring back at him, head cocked to the side. He cradled it in his arms as he sat up in his bed.

"Well hello there," he said, not expecting any answers. "You're surprisingly fragile for the most fearsome race in Alagaesia aren't you?" At that, the dragon crouched and growled at him. Galbatorix laughed. "So what should your name be?" he asked rhetorically. He knew all dragons had names, or, at the least, those who were bonded with riders. He thought about several names, but none of them seemed to fit this dragon well. He frowned, and decided to ask Toren about it later.

After dressing himself in what he deemed the most appropriate traveling garbs he owned, Galbatorix left his room and went to the kitchens to eat with his dragon following close behind. The family cook had roasted a fine slab of marbled steak, and Galbatorix did not hesitate to devour his share. For some reason, the encounter with his dragon yesterday had left him drained of energy and famished. As he chewed on the meat, his dragon leapt onto the table making Galbatorix yelp.

The dragon looked down at the meat, sniffing it curiously. Frowning Galbatorix pulled his plate closer to himself, but the dragon followed the enticing scent. "This is mine!" Galbatorix told the dragon, who looked at him uncomprehendingly, then returned its gaze to the meat. It crouched low, as though about to pounce. As he was about to lift his plate so the dragon couldn't get his meal, he realized the dragon was indeed newly hatched, and probably starving. He sighed and allowed the dragon to pounce onto his plate, rolling over with the meat clutched in its claws. It nipped and bit at the food as though it were a live animal, and Galbatorix's lips twitched into a smile.

He asked the cook for some bread instead, and ate it while the dragon wrestled with its inanimate prey. Eventually the two of them finished, the dragon licking its chops, and he left to seek out his father. He was unsure of how the man would react to Galbatorix leaving to become a Rider, but he hoped his father would be ecstatic. His father was a prideful man, and what could he be more proud of than his son becoming a dragon rider?

He walked towards the main hall, winding through the twisting corridors of the castle. He loved walking the corridors, it seemed that if you didn't pay attention you could easily get lost in the narrow branching layout of the castle. Of course, Galbatorix had long since memorized every nook and cranny of the castle, but it still calmed him to walk through them without purpose or direction.

He came to the hall and found the man that was his father. Lord Eren was his name, and the man deserved the title given to him. Never in his life had Galbatorix met someone of his father's stature. The man was tall and slimmer than many, and yet he still gave off an air of irrefutable power and authority. He held his chin high and wore the vestments of the finest cloths in the land. When Galbatorix walked into the room, he lifted his chin from its resting place on the great man's intertwined fingers.

"Ah my son!" He said joyously, "You have woken! Splendid. I trust you have slept well?" As he spoke, Galbatorix saw the unmistakable twinkle in his eye that suggested Eren was indeed pleased with the situation. Relieved that his father was not upset, Galbatorix exchanged the formal pleasantries with his father for a number of minutes. Eventually his father inquired into the dragon at Galbatorix's side.

"I have not decided on a name for her yet," Galbatorix replied, "but I know she deserves a name of highest stature. She is beautiful is she not, father?" Eren merely grunted, more an acknowledgment that something had been said rather than the statement that had been made. The Lord of the house leaned forward to inspect the dragon, who sniffed at the man in return. He held his hand out as though to pet the dragon, who shrunk away from the towering man. Galbatorix expected his father to relinquish his attempt to touch the dragon, but the man continued. When he did not relent, the hatchling snapped at his fingers, catching one and biting deep.

Swearing, Eren withdrew his hand, a flame shining in his eyes. For a second, Galbatorix thought the man was going to strike the dragon, and prepared to launch himself against his father to defend his new dragon should the need arise. Time seemed to slow as, snarling, Eren drew back his hand slightly, opening his palm slightly. Tensing, Galbatorix crouched slightly, about to bowl his own father over.

"Ahem!" came a loud cough behind them, and Lord Eren turned quickly, still tense, but no longer presenting a threat to the dragon. Galbatorix relaxed slightly. As he turned to face the source of the sound, he found Toren standing in the doorway. He stood, relaxed and confident in the doorway, as he gazed at the boy and man before him. "I do not think that would be wise, Eren." The man said, softly, but with the slightest of edges to the voice. "It is never wise to make an enemy of a dragon."

Caught seemingly off guard, Eren's features quickly turned from the snarl he bore a moment ago to one of complete openness, though his eyes hardened slightly. Smiling brightly at the newcomer, he replied with utmost confidence.

"I assure you, I meant no harm for my son's new pet." The man spoke, his voice smooth as silk. "I merely wished to see the dragon in full. Though I saw your dragons, I have never had the opportunity to inspect one closely. They are indeed fascinating creatures." He said, then his smile widened even further as a thought struck him. "Is she not the most beautiful creature you have ever seen?" he said, echoing the words he had so quickly brushed off mere moments before. Galbatorix's face flushed red in anger at his father, but he did not dare to speak.

Fortunately Toren appeared doubtful. "Though your curiosity is not uncommon, it would be unwise for you to... Touch your son's new _companion_." He emphasized the word clearly, making it clear the dragon was no mere pet. "Your son and his dragon are now a part of our order. Neither of them answer to you or any lord any longer." Toren's voice was steely cold, talking as much to Galbatorix as to Eren. Galbatorix appreciate the reassurance somewhat, feeling justified in almost raising his hand against his own father earlier. His dragon was now the most important part of his life, and as a rider, he would no longer be bound to the ties of his family. Eren, however, did not seem to be as appreciative. His features twisted with threatening anger, he stood to his full height, half a head taller than Toren.

"You have no right," he said softly, but with a razor sharp edge. "To come to my hold, dare to take my own son from me, then challenge my own authority over my family." He stated, as an undeniable fact.

"I have every right," came the calm response from Toren. "And I need only one. The right of a Rider, the Shur'tugal. I pay favor to you over any other, as my duty is to protect all. To do so, I must ensure the safety and objectivity of the next generation of riders. Your son cannot be allowed to be partial, even to his own family." His voice was utterly smooth and confident, even as Eren became visibly more and more shaken.

Galbatorix expected his father to snap, to order his guards to slay this man, to strike against the rider himself perhaps for showing disrespect. He had never before seen his father visibly affected by the words of another, but now the tall Lord trembled with rage. Just as the tension of the room reached a critical point, where Galbatorix was sure that violence was the only possible outcome, his father took a deep breath. Calming himself entirely, the master of Irvenstead steeled himself.

"So be it." He started, "Should my soon be doomed to such a fate, without family, without ties to the world, then so be it. But I would not allow you to take him against his own will. Should the need arise, I will fight with every man I can muster to protect my son. Should he choose so, he may leave with you, but if he would rather stay, I would hope you would respect his wishes."

The two men stared at each other for what seemed like an endless period of time. Neither so much as twitched. Galbatorix suspected there was more in play than the desires of a young rider to stay with, or abandon, his life. Galbatorix knew what his answer would be. Slowly, his father turned to him, then spoke.

"Galbatorix, you are still a young boy, and I know first hand how alluring the prospect of adventure can be. To be a Rider! It is a great chance indeed." His father posed and nodded adamantly. "But you have a life here. Choosing the riders would mean leaving everything behind. Leaving me behind, your sister, your mother. All the friends you've made and all the villagers you know. You would never see them again. Is it worth it, then? To abandon your world, abandon the throne ensured to you through your inevitable succession of me? You will be a lord someday. King of your own realm." His father was the single most persuasive man Galbatorix had ever met, and Galbatorix was beginning to lose sight of his chance at being a rider, drawn in by the words of his father.

"That," interrupted Toren, "Will not be allowed. Galbatorix, you must come with me. You will come to Illirea, be trained as a Rider, and become a part of the order. It is your destiny. It is why you have been chosen by a dragon." As Galbatorix shifted towards the Rider, his father shunted him back violently.

"Look at me, boy," Eren spat, "you can stay here. You will be the most powerful lord in Alagaesia. Armies will rally to your beck and call. You, with a dragon at your side, would be the greatest rulers in the land." His father spoke urgently and viscously. Galbatorix shrank back.

"I'm sorry father," he whispered, "I'm sorry... sorry.. sorry..." He repeated the word over and over again, hoping it would ward off his father's power hungry anger. He picked his dragon up in his arms and backed away, toward Toren. His father stood, all vestiges of his former intensity abandoned.

"Then go with my blessing." He said calmly, though his eyes held nothing but disappointment. Galbatorix bowed to his father for a final time. Toren grabbed his shoulders softly and turned him away. Leading Galbatorix through the halls of Irvenstead castle, until they came outside.

"It would be unwise to stay, I fear." Came the soft voice in his ear. "We will leave with haste, do you know of any carts we could hire?" Galbatorix nodded his acknowledgment, and lead the man through the city until they came to a small stable near the gate. There they found a small man with hunched shoulders and a withered face. Toren offered him a purse full of coins if he would take them to Illirea in his cart. The man accepted the coins gratefully, for it was much more than the cart and horses were worth. However, he explained he could not leave the city, and offered them the cart and horses permanently. Somewhat reluctantly, Toren agreed and gave the man a few more coins.

Galbatorix hopped into the back of the cart as Toren put himself in the lead seat and grasped the reins. It was a rackety old cart with greying wood, and held a musky smell. Accustomed to finer accommodations, Galbatorix felt out of place in the peasant's cart. He did not complain though, too busy wrestling with his own consciousness to so much as talk to Toren. His life as he knew it was over, and as the cart passed the city gates Galbatorix felt a sense of loss. He looked down at the silvery white dragon, and his apprehension fell away immediately. He knew that so long as he and his dragon were together, he could face the challenges of the world.

Aye, his old life was perhaps gone, but a new life would begin soon, one that he knew would hold greater grandeur than any he could have found in his native city. He was to be a Rider.

And a Rider in the fullest his was determined to be.


	2. A name

The naming:

Oromis was sitting in a comfortable chair next to his solid oak desk that he had sung by himself. It was not the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, but it was the first object had ever sung from a tree. It was not a matter of pride, for Oromis was not particularly prideful, but more so a reminder of humble origins. Though he had become one of the most powerful elder riders in the order, he constantly reminded himself that he was not defined by his power. Wisdom and reason were, to him, significantly more important. On this particular day both of these were being tested in a way Oromis had not been exposed to for some time. Normally, he would direct his thoughts to his studies, but he had just recently scried with one of his old students, and her report had troubled him.

A young human boy, Galbatorix by name if he recalled correctly, had recently been chosen by a dragon. His student, Ellar, had been in a small human city called Irvenstead, had sensed great power within the young boy, and his touch had stirred three dragon eggs. In addition, when Thauriel, Ellar's partner, had touched his mind, the boy had shown natural aptitude in the realm of controlling his consciousness. He knew many of the other elders would be elated to hear of such a naturally talented rider, and yet it troubled Oromis. No rider that he knew of had caused more than their own egg to stir. More than anything, Oromis had learned that dragons had an instinct unparalleled by any other race. He knew not if they had reacted to the boys power, or if they had sensed something more.

Upon hearing this troubling news from his former pupil, he had asked her to come and consult with him in Illirea. She had left immediately, leaving her accompanying rider with the boy. He could think of no more to do until he had the chance to speak with her more in depth concerning the event.

_I have come to respect your judgement and logic, Little-One, _came the voice of Glaedr in his mind, _and though I do not disagree with your thoughts, perhaps you should not concern yourself so. He is but a hatchling, and with proper nurturing, perhaps he will be one of the greatest riders Alagaesia will know. _Comforted slightly by Glaedr's speech, Oromis leaned back in his chair and sighed.

_Maybe you are right, I have been overly focused in determining if this young human is cause for worry. With the right training of mind from our order, perhaps this human will become truly great. _Oromis nodded to himself. Before classifying this untested youngling, he would have to do his best to ensure the boy was raised properly by his order.

Sighing, Oromis leaned forward at his desk and pulled a fresh piece of parchment from his drawers. After dipping a quill into a bottle of dark ink, Oromis began writing in his elegant script.

The cart jostled violently, snapping Galbatorix awake. He was passing along a trail lined with trees. He and Toren had been riding for two days now, and each day Galbatorix passed the time idly talking to Toren or by playing with his dragon in the back of the cart. In the few days since it hatched, Galbatorix was astounded by how quickly it had grown. The young dragon had grown by at least half its original body length in a matter of days. Whenever they passed through a village, Toren had to buy a large bulk of food for the dragon, who consumed more meat than Galbatorix had thought possible.

Galbatorix sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He looked down at his dragon, curled up next to him. Knowing it was unnecessary, Galbatorix pulled the blanket covering him over his dragon. The little creature was extraordinarily hot, as though instead of the usual organs of animals, it possessed fire inside of it. Despite this, he felt a compulsion to show affection of some kind for his dragon, trying to make her as comfortable as possible. After wrapping his dragon in the heavy blanket, he clambered up to the front of the carriage. He spent most of his time in that seat, interrogating Toren about different subjects. From the geography of Alagaesia to the anatomy of dragons, they covered more topics than Galbatorix had ever hoped to explore in his life. At the least when Toren was willing to share. Naturally inclined to absorbing knowledge, he listened avidly as Toren described mountains so high they couldn't be climbed, and massive beasts that lurked in ocean depths called the Nidhwal. In the two days, Galbatorix had learned enough to write a book, and was eager to know more. However, today, instead of posing endless questions about the world of Alagaesia, Galbatorix had a different issue on his mind.

"Toren," he said somewhat quietly, "Before I was chosen, the elven lady who came to Irvenstead with you said her dragon's name was Thauriel." His comment was met with a slight grunt, then the rider replied.

"Her name is Ellar." he said, with a hint of something that Galbatorix couldn't identify, but his gaze grew wistful at her name. "And yes, her dragon is Thauriel."

"Do all dragons have names?" Galbatorix asked sheepishly.

"Of course!" Toren replied with a confused look on his face. "Why wouldn't they?"

"I was wondering, what's your dragon's name?" The large brown dragon that was partnered with Toren had never spoken with Galbatorix as Thauriel had, and the rider had never spoken of the dragon by name. In fact, Galbatorix had hardly seen the dragon since they had left Irvenstead, as the dragon was flying high above them and departed sometimes to go hunt.

Chuckling, Toren replied. "His name is Svaelr." As if to enforce this point, there was a loud roar in the distance, and a great many birds took flight at the terrifying sound. Galbatorix was unsure as to why the rider found his question amusing, but decided to leave the matter be. He had noticed a few odd peculiarities about Toren, and decided that much of his behavior was inexplicable. For instance, the man would often drift off into a daze, and then flinch violently as if he had just had a near death experience. Despite his apparent inattentiveness in this state, the rider seemed to become hyper aware of his surroundings at this time. After coming out of this state, Toren often pointed out hidden birds and animals that would have otherwise gone unnoticed.

Galbatorix was curious whether all riders were like this, or if Toren was unique in this manner. The elven woman he had met, Ellar as Toren had informed him, didn't seem the same as this man. She had had a more consistent disposition, whereas Toren seemed to have great mood swings. One minute he would be glad to satiate Galbatorix's thirst for knowledge, and the next he'd be too annoyed to pay attention to the boy. This new information that all dragons had names was perhaps the most relevant things Galbatorix had learned in the past few days, and he felt a bit pressured. He should have given his dragon a name already.

Review the two names he knew, Thauriel and Svaelr, he tried to discern some meaning behind the sounds. Failing that, he mulled different names over that he had heard through his life. From the names of farm dogs he had heard to the names of villagers, he covered a broad spectrum of different names. Despite his efforts, he found no names that seemed to fit his dragon. Failing to divine a name for his dragon, he sighed heavily.

Noticing this, Toren turned towards him. "What troubles you?" he asked, though somewhat apathetically.

"I don't know what to name my dragon." Galbatorix admitted after a moment. "None of the names I know seem to fit. Nothing seems noble enough for a dragon." Toren nodded thoughtfully.

"The naming of a dragon is nothing to be taken lightly. This is the name your companion will bear for the rest of her life. Do not hurry the process, and do not make a decision until you are absolutely certain of the name."

"Nonetheless, I feel as though I should, at the least, be trying to find a name for her." Galbatorix looked over his shoulder at the bundled dragon. Despite her initial metallic sheen, the scales had turned more and more mat, and they now seemed to be a brilliant silvery white color.

"Do you know the names of any white dragons?" Galbatorix asked, wondering if perhaps the name of another similarly colored dragon might prove inspirational.

"Well, there's Vrael's dragon, Umaroth. He is one of the eldest dragons alive, and a mighty dragon indeed. There was Szezera, a wild dragon who had grown so large she would hunt the Nidwhal." At this Galbatorix's eyebrows shot up. No dragon could possibly be so large! But he dared not interupt, and Toren continued. "Daeroth, the tenth dragon to have been paired with a rider..." Toren continued to list a number of dragon names, all belonging to dragons of high prestige. After listing twenty or so names, Toren paused for a moment. searching for more names.

"There have not been many white dragons." he said, "One of my teachers told me once that upon studying the trends of white dragons mating, he found that white eggs only appeared when two white dragons mated. If a white dragon mated with a dragon of any other sort, the egg would be the same color as the other dragon."

"Why is that?" Galbatorix inquired.

"As far as he could tell, it was that certain traits are inherited from either parent of a hatchling. For instance, Claw size, flying styles and time it takes a dragon to breathe fire were the same as one of the parents at the same age. He described it as when two dragons mate, their traits combine to create their hatchling. The reason for this, we are not sure. Though I would not be surprised if you had noticed similar happenings in your city." Galbatorix nodded, he had noticed that parents who had blonde hair would have kids with that color hair, whereas those with dark hair would have dark haired children. They rode in silence as Galbatorix processed what Toren had said, until eventually his mind returned to the topic of names.

"Does a dragon's name have any meaning beyond just being a name?"

"I don't believe so. Sometimes dragons will have names that correspond with their color, but beyond that, I have never noticed anything."

Disappointed that he wouldn't find a name pursuing that route, Galbatorix turned his mind back to thinking of different names. Hours passed as they rode along the dirt path in the forest and Galbatorix's mind turned over and over. They made their way into a small village, where they bought enough food and supplies to last them the rest of the journey. Toren explained that this was the last village before they would reach Illirea, which was a journey of about four days. They continued their voyage after only a brief break in the village. They hardly spoke that day, and as the sun began to set, Toren pulled off the main road to a clearing he said that Svaelr had found. Toren showed Galbatorix how to make a basic shelter in the wilderness for the night.

A half hour of prolonged frustration passed as Galbatorix tried to master the knots and techniques that Toren had showed him. He had figured out a way to make a shelter with only two different knots and had erected it quickly, but Toren refused to let that pass as enough. Despite a full shelter already being built, Toren showed him countless, each one more complex than the last. Eventually the lesson ended when Galbatorix used a few simple knots to subtly build a snare with which he trapped the rider's hands together.

Angered, Toren turned away muttering incoherently. Galbatorix thought he caught several cussed words, but was too busy laughing at Toren's plight. His dragon, who had been resting on a branch while Galbatorix was drilled, perked up as she heard Toren struggling with his bonds. A small puff of smoke escaped her nostrils as she made a gruff sound in the base of her throat. Listening to it, Galbatorix noticed it was somewhat akin to laughing.

Toren struggled with his bonds for a few seconds, then turned his back and hissed something. When he turned back, the ropes were snapped and fell off easily. Astonished, Galbatoarix scrutinized Toren, looking for a hidden blade of some sort, but found nothing. With no other explanation evident, Galbatorix new what it must be. Magic.

He had heard stories of wizards, witches and sorcerers before, but had never met one in person. Being a magician and a rider made Toren incredibly powerful, and Galbatorix was immediately on guard. He was wary of the man now, more so than before. The one thing Eren had always pressed on his son was the dangers of magicians. His father said that it was the only thing more powerful than words.

He felt something pressing against his consciousness and panicked briefly, until he realized that whatever it was was more animalistic than any human's mind could be. It felt somewhat similar to the consciousness of Thauriel, the dragon who had first spoken with Galbatorix.

Hesitantly, he allowed the consciousness to mingle with his own. He felt reassurance and care it the gentle touch of the other's thoughts. He turned to the tree that his dragon was perched upon and found its gaze locked on him. It cocked its head to the side, than let out a slight yip. That yip resonated through his mind, and Galbatorix new that it was his dragon touching his mind.

Elated Galbatorix opened his arms to his dragon, who leapt into them. He gazed down at the hatchling in his arms, a new sense of their bond began to permeate his being. He realized what it meant to be dragon and rider. It wasn't just companionship, it was the sharing of a soul. One soul, split between two halves. He smiled as his entire perception of the world tilted.

_I'm Galbatorix, _he said through their mental link. Immediately, he felt the name coursing through the dragon's being. It started as a whisper, but grew in strength until it reverberated through both their minds. _Galbatorix..._ It replied to him. She knew him.

The next two days were spent as Galbatroix taught his dragon the words of his tongue. He found that when he just said a word to her, she was unable to comprehend him. He soon learnt that if he shared all his knowledge, his ideas, the entirety of an object to her, than she learned much quicker. By the end of the first day, she had learned a dozen words to perfection, and could speak in rough phrases. At only about a week old, his dragon was discovering what took most humans the first three years of their lives.

On the second day, he allowed his dragon to sift around in his memories. It took pleasure in all his experiences, except for those which concerned his father. He tried to make her understand that he was family, and family was good. _Bad, _was all she said, refusing to listen to him. Eventually she came to a story that his mother had told him once, and lingered for a while.

It was an old tale in the village. It spoke of an ancient elven warrior, Jarnuvosk, who had helped to save Irvenstead. She had held off an entire horde of kull giving the villagers enough time to prepare themselves. She was slain after delivering seventy and five kull to the void. His father had told him that the story was pathetic, and a lie. That no single being could possibly slay that many urgals, and that it was simply an old tale that the villagers enjoyed. Galbatorix was inclined to believe Eren, and yet a portion of him had always wanted to believe it. To think that anyone could be so valiant to sacrifice themselves, let alone for a race not her own, warmed his heart.

"Would you like to hear it?" he asked his dragon. Gurgling it perked up for a second, then lay its head on his lap. It gazed up at him expectantly as he begun to speak.

"Long ago, when men first came to Alagaesia, they brought with them another race. The urgralgra, or urgals as they are more commonly known." He recanted it as he remembered his mother doing, adding his own scraps of knowledge to it. "When they first arrived, the dragons, yes that's you, and humans began to fight. When the urgals followed men across the sea, they began ravaging the settlements of humans. As such, the human race was being eviscerated, ripped apart by many foes. Due to the unsettling of the peace, the elves took no kindness to the humans either.

"A group of pilgrims fleeing from their first settlement tried to build a town, the urgals came and destroyed it. Again they fled, but were pursued. Knowing they could not withstand the power of the urgals, they began to lose hope of surviving. Six men, the strongest and most capable of the group, offered to stay behind to slow the urgals, hoping to buy a small amount of time that the group might find shelter or help.

"The men made their stand in a small choke point in a fissure of the mountains. The six lined up and faced the oncoming horde. The countless urgals charged the Six Champions. The men stood their ground and fought harder than any mortal had ever before. Each slaying a dozen or more urgals. They began to suffer wound after grievous wound. They bore marks that any lesser men would have died from ten times over. Each received numbers of mortal wounds that should have felled them. One of them had an axe buried in his side, and yet continued to fight.

"The battle wore on for close to an hour, but the men could ill hold off such a mighty force for long. One by one they began to fall, until only one remained. His name was Wuthrun and he is regarded as the greatest man to have lived. He fought off six more of the urgals before finally succumbing to a cowardly arrow placed into his heart.

"But as he fell, he saw a figure watching from far away. The horde moved passed him quickly, in pursuit of the larger group, and when they had done so, it approached. A beautiful elven lady, Jarnuvosk, had seen the entirety of the conflict. As Wuthrun took his last breath, she promised to do what she could to save his people. Gladly then, Wuthrun passed to the void, his task here finished.

"Jarnuvosk rushed to the group, for the elves possess even greater speed than the great kull. She told them of their champions' valiant effort, but that there was little hope if they did not hurry. The refugees came soon to a forest, where they used the trees to create a slight barrier, a wall of sorts. As they did so, the urgals descended upon them. The kull arrived first, seventy five of them in all. The barriers were not yet ready, and knowing that the lives of all of the humans were forfeit if she did nothing, Jarnuvosk made a fatal decision.

"She went forth to confront the kull, and vicisouly she fought. The speed of a cat and the skill that was equalled by no mans, she slew dozens of kull. With their bodies lying at her feet she cut and slashed, killing more enemies than most would come to see in their life. Alas, as she slew her fiftieth beast, her blade pressing into its black heart, a young kull stabbed her through the back with a wickedly enchanted blade. The refugees gasped and despaired seeing this, and the beautiful elf fell.

"But she did not die. Summoning a great load of energy, she blasted the kull away from her. Staggering to her feet, she again charged at the diminished crowd. She fought mightily, but it was obvious she was grievously wounded. As she beheaded the last kull, so too did she fall. Never to stand again.

"The villagers finished their wall, which was to become Irvenstead in later years, and were able to fend off the rest of the urgals. She was perhaps the greatest hero of old." He concluded. He meant what he said. He heard tales of more impressive feats, and yet that one had struck him as the most valiant, as she had sacrificed herself.

_Jar... Nuv... Jarnuvosk... _He felt the echo in his mind. Other than his own name, his dragon had never learned a word so quickly.

_Is that your name? _He asked her. Warmth coursed through their mental link, and Galbatorix smiled. The name was fitting, and Galbatorix could think of no greater to bear it.


	3. Chapter 3

3: Arrivals

Galbatorix continued to teach Jarnuvosk more and more words as they traveled along the gravely road on their way to Illirea. Jarnuvosk seemed to share her rider's keen intellect, and continued to excel at learning the words. When Galbatorix told Toren of their success, he was amazed. He said it normally took months for a rider's dragon to start talking. However, normally dragons and riders only talked through feelings and transferred senses for the first few years. As such, the dragons only picked up words that were used frequently around them. Toren said that Galbatorix's approach was very uncommon indeed.

In addition, when Galbatorix told Toren of the name that Jarnuvosk had chosen, he seemed very pleased.

"She was heroic indeed. In a time when an elf may well have slain a human out of disdain, she fought to protect them. She was a warrior in every sense of the word, respecting the honor of the six men who gave their lives. The real story is far less epic, only a handful of kull were chasing the to be villagers, but nonetheless, it was a great tale." Though he was pleased that the rider approved of the name, he was a bit disappointed to learn that the story he had found to be so exciting was naught but a gross exaggeration. Toren looked down to him, and saw the saddened look on the young boy's face. "Don't worry, it is the greatest tales that are retold in greater proportions than they took place. The magnitude of her valor is more accurately represented by the stories." Toren said in a comforting voice.

Heartened by Toren's words, Galbatorix smiled slightly. He spent the next while trying to reassure Jarnuvosk as well, who's pride seemed wounded the rider's words. Though she had not understood the entirety of his words, what she did know made her angered. Smoke poured out of her nostrils, though Toren assured him that a dragon could not breath fire for months after their birth.

Galbatorix climbed back over the seat where he had been perched speaking with Toren. Reaching out, he picked Jarnuvosk up and comforted her until she was reassured that her name was one of utmost dignity. Galbatorix did his best to hide the humor and mirth that he felt at his dragon's predicament, but was sure a bit of it was shared through their mental link. He was certain when she bit him sharply on his fingers and glared at him. Yelping he hugged his fingers to his chest and glared down at his dragon. He couldn't bare himself to stay angry with her, and nor could she. He laughed heartily as she snuggled against his chest. They curled up and Galbatorix drew the blanket up around them. They fell asleep as the cart rocked to and fro of the bumpy surface of the road.

Some while later they awoke and Galbatorix felt a chill in the air. Looking around he realized that the sun was dropping, and with it, so to did the temperature. The dense forest around them had turned from the pines that Galbatorix had recognized all his life to strange, spiky trees with no needles.

"What trees are these, Toren?" He asked. He had come to think of Toren as a mentor of his in a way. No matter what kind of question he asked, the rider seemed to know all the answers. He was astounded by the depth of knowledge Toren held. Chuckling, the older man replied.

"They're a different sort of tree. During the warmer months they grow great thin, flat leaves. As it gets colder those leaves turn to yellows and reds, then fall off. Come winter, they look like nothing more than skeletons." Galbatorix was awed. Trees that fell apart during winter. He wondered if they died then came back to life. "Other than that, it is getting quite dark. I think we should ready our camp for the night. We've been making a good pace, and if we rest well tonight, I think we can arrive in Illirea by late tomorrow."

Galbatorix obliged as they pulled off the road into the bush. He made himself a shelter quickly and lay down with Jarnuvosk. Svaelr sheltered Toren under his wing after landing, and those two quickly fell asleep. Galbatorix and Jarnuvosk, however, having just slept, found it much harder to slip into the dreamscape. The two lay under Galbatorix's quickly fashioned shelter, made of moss and sticks, and gazed out at the stars.

"I wonder if one day we could fly out there." He muttered to Jarnuvosk. "I wonder if anyone's ever gone that high. Toren said there were mountains too high to fly above, so I doubt it. But I also doubt they're spirits, as everyone from home thinks." He enjoyed talking aloud to Jarnuvosk. He found her company reassuring, and he could talk to her for hours simply wallowing in her presence. He felt invincible with his dragon. He knew that someday none would dare oppose them as dragon and rider, and the promise of the authority brought him more joy than he had ever had at his house in Irvenstead. Though she didn't entirely share the sentiment, Jarnuvosk certainly enjoyed the idea that soon, she would be one of the most respected and powerful beings in Alagaesia. They stayed linked for much of the night, sharing feelings and sensations. Eventually their eyes grew tired and they drifted into sleep. That night, Glabatorix dreamt he was apart of the story of the first Jarnuvosk, as she valiantly fought off legions of urgals.

The next morning passed quickly as Galbatorix helped Toren disassemble their makeshift camp. In only about an hour they were on the road again, traveling through the winding forest. Galbatorix had noticed that since their departure from his home city the air had become steadily warmer, but on that morning he felt truly warm for the first time since the last summer. The golden beams of sunshine soaked through the skeletal branches above them and washed over the ground. The light created intricate patterns on the ground, displaying an enticing dance between the shadows and the light. It was astonishing how close light and darkness could be, interacting with one another, and yet still be so distinct.

That day, unlike other days, Galbatorix was silent. No endless stream of questions. On that day, Galbatorix was feeling an anxious, nervous excitement. Toren had told him that they would reach Illirea by the end of the day, though it may be dark. Galbatorix thought about how his life would change when he arrived. Up until that point, his life had not truthfully changed all that much. He had left home, however, it was no more than a trip. Had he so wished, he easily could have returned home. He felt that arriving at Illirea would change everything, that at that point, there would be no remnants of his old life. His father would no longer be able to influence him, he would have no ties to his sister or mother, and though his heart longed for the autonomy, it was a fear inspiring change. Toren sensed the brooding mood of his companion, and so did not press Galbatorix to speak in any way.

Galbatorix's only solace was Jarnuvosk. He found comfort in her company, and she continued to reassure him. Having never had a family before, she held no ties to a previous life. Thus her excitement was overwhelming. She was a naturally curious dragon, Galbatorix noticed, as her thoughts turned to imaginations of what their destination could look like. Galbatorix had heard descriptions of the great city before, and did his best to communicate these thoughts with his dragon. The two of them traded mental images, each one improving upon the next, until the mental picture they held of Illirea was so ridiculous that Galbatorix couldn't help but laugh.

They spent the hours as such, idly joining their thoughts to distract Galbatorix from the thoughts of his new life. As the sun grew higher into the sky, the trees gave way to long fields of what would have been wheat were it summer. Now, with the cold holding sway over the flora, nothing but long dirt fields remained. When the sun was about two thirds of the way through its trajectory, Toren tapped Galbatorix on the shoulder and pointed towards the horizon. Galbatorix followed Toren's gaze and saw the faint outline of what must have been Illirea.

The city had tall, sweeping spires spaced evenly throughout, overlooking angular sloping houses. The spires were massive, protruding as high as small mountains. They were narrow towers molded like fiery green, molten glass. They had a fluid appeal that made them insubstantial in a way, seeming to constantly twist and flow as the light of the setting sun played through it. Surrounding the outer perimeter of the city was a stone wall, but unlike any Galbatorix had seen before. The stone was dark, almost obsidian in color, and had a smooth, glossy texture. Despite this, the stone came to chiseled edges, giving the wall an uneasy, unnatural feel. Overall, Galbatorix's first impression was one of dangerous beauty.

Illirea was undoubtedly the greatest city he had lain his eyes upon, and yet it was also the darkest.

The rest of the journey passed quickly, as Galbatorix chattered excitedly with Jarnuvosk about their approach to the magnificent city. He was trying to get her to teach her new adjectives to describe the city, but was met with limited success. Jarnuvosk, for her part, was far too excited to focus on the drab lessons. After a brief period, Galbatorix gave up, laughing. The two sat in companionable silence, sharing their hope and apprehension for what awaited them.

Toren sat in silence as well as they rode across the road carved from the flat planes around them. Now, without the trees obstructing his view, he could keep Svaelr in sight. The two were also bound in mental communication as Svaelr looped lazily around the sky. He wove intricately through the wind, spinning and twirling as though it were the most natural thing in the world. In that moment Galbatorix understood why dragons were the most terrifying creatures in Alagaesia. Something that was larger than a house, and yet had more grace and skill than the most talented bird flying overhead was not a force to be trifled.

Jarnuvosk watched the older dragon with a sense of awe. She yearned to leave the ground behind and soar through the air if only her wings were strong enough. A week old, she was hardly developed enough to jump, let alone fly. As anger and frustration overwhelmed her, she bellowed, or tried anyhow. The to-be ferocious roar came out as more of a shrill shriek. Galbatorix burst out laughing at his partner.

5 days earlier:

Ellar and Thauriel flew through the thick clouds. The pair felt the fatigue in their bones and each movement was a struggle. Their lungs burning, they pushed on. She was not sure if she had ever flown so hard or so fast before in her life, but this was of paramount importance.

It was far from Illirea to Irvenstead, and yet the duo flew faster than they had in training exercises for speed. They were both young. Among her race, Ellar was considered little more than a child of only 50 summers. Thauriel had been her dragon for the pas twenty years, and they had only recently ascended to the title of dragon and rider in full two years past. They had more energy, focus and vibrant energy than most riders, and yet they still felt the weight of the journey pressing on them. This was nothing, however, compared to the burden they carried on their minds.

A human who had caused such a disturbance in the eggs was unusual. This added to his unnaturally quick taking to the communication of mind inferred cunning and power rivaling that of the greatest elves. He was untrained, untamed, and still showed extreme potential. Though he had seemed charming and genuine, Ellar was chilled to the core of her being by his effect on the eggs. Dragons, she had learned, were always deliberate in their actions, even if they had not yet hatched.

Oromis had shared her concern. That worried her even more. She studied under Oromis, and one of the first exercises they had done involved extensive debates routed only in logic. He was the most logical man she had ever met, and if this occurrence frightened him, then that meant there was some substance to Ellar's thoughts.

As Thauriel dove out of the clouds, they perceived the slight, thin structures of Illirea's spires jutting out of the ground. Those towers had always awed Ellar, since she was a child. From a distance, they seemed like the sharpest of knives, and yet when you got close, they were so graceful and smooth.

As he caught wind of his rider's thoughts, Thauriel redoubled his efforts, seeing the towers himself a moment later. A small pit out anxiety grew in Ellar's gut as she felt Thauriel's agonizing pain through their mental link. He was pushing himself too hard.

_Please Thauriel, slow down. _She urged, _This is important, it is true. But what use are we if you burn yourself into the ground?_

_You do not understand. _His voice was almost pleading. _Those were _eggs,_ Ellar. If they sensed something in him, it is monumental. Dragons are peculiar, and only we understand our own kind. _

_Are we not part of the same soul?_

_Aye, but Ellar, partner of my soul, there are things about dragons that we only understand on a primal level, untouchable and they cannot be understood by your kind. Only we understand fully. _

His words gauged a pit through her very being and silenced her. They fixed their gazes on the city ahead and flew in silence, nothing more than an indescribable need drawing them ever closer.

They flew for close to an hour before they finally reached the outer walls of the city. As they crossed its threshold, Thauriel let out a mighty roar, terrifying many of the citizens below. In that roar he released all his pain and anguish and fear from their flight. They soared quickly through the air, twisting between the great spires, and finally coming to land near the fortress in Illirea. It sat just under a large cropping of rock that hung over the city, and was possibly the grandest structure in Alagaesia.

It was a massive circular wall, about half a league across, with rings getting higher towards the middle, wherein stood a large tower. This was the home of the riders outside of Vroengard. Each of the concentric rings held hundreds of roosts for dragons and their riders. Though Vroengard was much larger and impressive, Illirea still could hold enough riders to be a considerable force. It was where the initiates spent most of their time training before they could go to Vroengard to become full riders. As such, this is where Ellar spent most of her time, as she had not yet entirely completed her training.

Thauriel twisted down, spiralling towards the massive tower in the middle of the fortress. There was an opening about halfway down that housed Glaedr and Oromis. It was difficult to miss the gaping hole in the side of the otherwise smooth tower. Glaedr and Oromis were the only elders permanently stationed in Illirea, and oversaw the training of the next generations of riders.

Thauriel pumped his wings hard as they came out beside the entrance, straining his wings to the point where Ellar thought they might pop out of their sockets, and quickly scrambled inside. Ellar undid the straps of her harness as quickly as she could and leaped down hurriedly from Thauriel's back.

Before her sat Oromis, teacup halfway to his mouth. Behind him slumbered the massive golden dragon, Glaedr. Every time that Ellar saw the dragon she was amazed by his size. She always remembered him smaller, unable to believe her memories telling her something could be that massive, and yet there he was. Oromis slowly lowered the cup into its tray in his other hand sitting in his lap. He placed the saucer on his desk, to his left, every motion slow and gracefully controlled. Finally he spoke, choosing their native language.

"Ah, I'm glad you've come. It seems we have an important matter to discuss. Let not us delay."


End file.
